


The Dream's Fault

by HobbitFeels



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Awkward Crush, Denial of Feelings, Dream Sex, Dreams, John wants dirty talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Secret Crush, Tropes, ambiguously pre-reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:27:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitFeels/pseuds/HobbitFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John was absolutely, in no way in love with his flatmate when he went to bed that night."</p><p>John wakes up from a sex dream about Sherlock with an unexpected crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dream's Fault

John was absolutely, in no way in love with his flatmate when he went to bed that night.

Sherlock was brilliant, of course. He was fun, too, in their strange, demented way they liked to have fun. They had a good time together doing anything from predicting the fortunes in their Chinese take-away to examining crime scenes. Sherlock was funny--the type of dry, morbid, witty funny not everyone truly "got," but which John found endlessly entertaining.

None of that was odd, though. Most people enjoyed their friends and thought they were amazing people, otherwise they wouldn't be friends at all.

Therefore, it was a bit of a surprise when John's brain rebelled one summer night and gave him a sex dream about his best friend:

_Sherlock was naked, panting, and sighing while John kissed down his stomach, over to each hipbone, down one thigh, and up the other._  
_"John, you are the devil," Sherlock groaned._  
_John smirked and kept kissing and licking, avoiding the erection Sherlock was flexing at him._  
_"I never beg, but I'm begging now. Please."_  
_"Please what?" John teased._  
_"Take me in your mouth."_  
_"Hmmm," John said, licking down a thigh. "I think it needs to sound more obscene than that."_  
_Desperately, Sherlock pleaded, "Suck my cock, suck me off!"_  
_"There's my dirty detective. Nothing like hearing filth from your proper, scientific, gorgeous mouth."_  
_John engulfed him, the pleasure forcing Sherlock's back to arch off the bed. He moaned obscenely, alternately clutching at John's head and winding his fist in the sheet. John could feel Sherlock against his throat as he took him deeper and deeper, sucking harder on the head with each pass. Sherlock's body tensed and quivered and John could feel him harden more in his mouth. The bollocks he had been fondling were also drawn tight. Sherlock was about to come for him and he wanted nothing more than to taste it._  
_Sherlock's head came up off the bed, eyes wide and stunned._  
_"John!" he gasped, then he came._

John woke up with a start. He woke up _hard._

John's subconscious mind had had its way with him while he was sleeping, just like he had had his way with Sherlock in his dream. It was disconcerting, but it couldn't really mean anything, not really. His war nightmares aside, John mostly ascribed to the "trash in, trash out" school of thought when it came to what happened behind sleeping eyes. Weird bits and bobs were cycled through and tossed out in random formations during dreams. The sex dream may have thrown him, but he'd have a quick wank, the weirdness would fade with the morning, and by midday, he'd forget all but a snatch of it.

Well, that was the way it was _supposed to work_.

 

*****

Sherlock emerged from his room around midday, texting at high speeds and talking to himself in a mumble. Typical.

John had never noticed Sherlock's hair before. He'd frequently seen it both disheveled as well as when each curl was perfectly arranged geometrically (because Sherlock could be a vain git), but he never sat and appreciated it. It looked...soft. His fingers tingled with the urge to touch, possibly even pull a little.

No. _No_. Where did that thought even come from?

At the next day's crime scene, John found himself looking Sherlock over, head to toe. He always knew Sherlock was a nice looking bloke, but in the way one might notice a nice jumper or a well-made salad. Looking at him now, John thought someone ought to carve Sherlock in marble and put the resulting masterpiece in a museum...or the end of John's bed.

John squeezed his eyes shut. The dream he had was messing with his mind, he told himself. "And that is _all_!"

 

*****

As the days stretched on, the after-effects of John's dream turned his daily life into a torture. How could he go from feeling nothing but friendship to appreciating the contours of Sherlock's arse, ogling the flex in his throat when he swallowed, and nearly trembling whenever Sherlock stood near enough to feel his body heat? He had a bloody crush on his flatmate--and all from some stupid dream!

He knew it had spiraled out of control when he stopped attempting to bed women in favor of wanking to Sherlock.

Something had to be done.


End file.
